


For Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

by rivlee



Series: All the Difference [4]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auctus was not always a free man; then again, he wasn't always called Auctus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Oscar Wilde's _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_.

Auctus had to leave the home of Valerius, for if he didn’t, he would’ve committed a murder and started a massacre among the Roman guards present. So he left, and he walked into the city, and he stared at the stars as he tried to make plans that could cause nothing but devastation. All the money he’d earned, all the men he’d killed in a bid for rewarded freedom, he was about to risk it for one woman, and yet it felt like it was for all. 

Naevia had been banished from the House of Batiatus, beaten, shamed, and disgraced. Rumors ran rampant about a rebellion of ludus slaves out of Capua; since Solonius’ school had been left in disgrace after his arrest, it could only be that of Batiatus. Auctus turned his eyes to the north and wondered if old friends still stood among the living. He could use Oenomaus’ wisdom and stout heart in this moment. 

Auctus was about to conrtact a pirate to steal a slave; it was the opposite of their normal business transactions. Castus had come with him from Neapolis to see the wonders of a world far inland. Auctus had left him with a jug of wine and willing company. He would most likely have to pull Castus out of whichever bed he’d tumbled into. If the gods were kind, Castus’ hadn’t consumed half the stock on Auctus’ coin. He would need Castus’ mind at its sharpest tonight. The plan he had, to eventually see a handful of slaves free, would have to be quick in its fruition. Once the record keepers realized Naevia was missing from the stock, the road would lead them back to Valerius’ country villa. They would find blood on innocent hands just to have someone to blame, and Nasir, soon to be fallen body slave, would face the harshest punishment. There were certain inevitabilities that came with taking on Rome, even for a small matter. They would need to be in friendly waters before any realized them so gone. 

It was the Roman way after all; the only time defiance and death were celebrated was when _they_ willed it.

Auctus was not familiar with the Roman way as a youth. He was raised outside Thebes; he was not called Auctus at the time, but Athanasios. He didn’t know then, as a young boy who stole olives from the trees when his watchful grandmother turned her indulgent eyes to the side, that he would become Auctus. Athanasios was the name of an innocent boy, forced to war while still beardless, who became a slave. Auctus became the name of slavery, but also of glory and freedom. It was the name the crowds chanted at each of his victories; the one that still thundered in his ears and haunted his mind when he had a moment for remembrance. Auctus was the name Barca’s lips pressed into his skin, as fingers gripped and bruised, and tongue and teeth marked between harsh gasps and deep sighs of pleasure. Auctus was the name he held when freedom was declared; the last word Barca said to him as they parted, the man who always dreamed of freedom, and Auctus who still dreamed only of glory.

**********************

A novice had driven a sword through him and only the respect for his reputation and his fight had seen him spared the final blow. Dishonor was a rancid taste on his tongue. He’d lost the match on purpose, per the orders of his dominus. Any hoplomachi worth his spear knew how to fight even when it was torn from him. It was a trick Gannicus favored and Auctus knew how to avoid; he’d been the one who taught Gannicus to disarm him in the first place.

Auctus had never thrown a match in all his years in the arena. He knew now, as his clutched his newly stitched side, that he would never hear the crowd roar so again. They had found a new hero to praise and pour adulation over. Auctus was now left to this, hidden far away from even the cells which held the fellow men of his ludus. All a farce for the will of his dominus. 

“My son would prefer you dead,” the Elder Batiatus said as he entered the darkened room. 

“I did lose,” Auctus said. 

“Per my instruction,” Titus agreed. “If my son can reward undeserving men with the Mark, I can reward freedom to the one I would see live.”

 _Freedom_? It was a prize Auctus knew he was never to win, not with Batiatus the Younger putting his own men forward. “Dominus?” he asked.

“You will need to leave this night,” Titus said. “I will attempt to get Barca to you for a final parting. They must think you dead from your injuries, before truth can be revealed.” He gripped Auctus’ shoulder and kindly smiled down at him. “I would have your freedom guaranteed if harm should come my way.”

Auctus frowned. “You think your life at risk?”

Titus’ smile turned brittle. “I am the paterfamilias.”

 _Freedom_ ; he repeated the word again in his mind. He dreamed of one day purchasing it, if he survived the arena and lived past his use. Now it was before him, freedom for loyalty. He could be Athanasios again. 

He decided to remain as Auctus.

*******************

He’d met Castus when war had carried him to the east. He knew the Cilicians, knew they traded in flesh, and wondered if he’d have to kill the gorgeous man leaning on his shoulder in the old tavern. Auctus loved the fight, but he rarely reveled in the kill. It was the one thing that kept him from becoming the beast the Romans claimed him. 

Freedom had not been as easy thing to take without Barca, and with Titus’ death so soon to follow. The Younger Batiatus, not nearly half the man his father was, did not see the need to give patronage to a Greek he always despised, especially when his freedom was legally upheld against Batiatus’ wishes. If Auctus was the kind of man to dwell on regrets, he would’ve spent hours agonizing over knocking a young Quintus to the sand over, and over again with his spear, as Titus and Ulpius laughed at the lesson. It had been act to turn an eager boy into a tougher man. Auctus had no idea then that he was helping to breed a monster. 

He had been haunted by those thoughts when travel allowed time to think, but Castus had wiped it away with a charming smile and cups full of drink. Auctus had spent many a night, clear-headed or taken with wine, exploring the rise and fall of Castus’ body, from arms formed by the gods, to an abdomen decorated with ink and telling a tale of victories at sea. Castus laughed brightly, where Barca had done it darkly. He had short hair, kept under tightly wound cloth, where Barca had long braids that had teased Auctus’ skin during fucks, during fights, and during all the time in-between. Barca had dreams, where Castus had goals; one man was still a slave, and the other free, though Auctus thought the sea its own type of chattel. He could never forget Barca, even among the company of pirates, for home had become the last of a Carthaginian dynasty kept in a prison of sand and stone, but joy had found itself in the hidden coves of craggy rock and salty waves. 

“Wake up,” Auctus said as he helped Castus to stand in the tavern outside of Valerius’ villa. It was time banish the past for the night. “I need you to be brilliant now.”

“I am always brilliant,” Castus insisted with his normal bravado.

“You are drunk,” Auctus said.

“And you are in need of a good fuck,” Castus answered. He laughed at Auctus. “Oh, is this not about stating what is plainly before us? Too bad, my dear Theban, for your brow wrinkles with worry, and I start to think you old.”

“I hope you drown in your own waste,” Auctus hissed as he tugged Castus towards his room.

“I will die at sea or not at all,” Castus sang in reply. 

*****************************

Quintus had taken Barca and made him into a fucking bodyguard. It was a waste of talent, and of a good man. Titus would not have stood for it; Ulpius would’ve fought it, and Auctus wondered why Oenomaus did not.

“You look to leave,” Barca said casting suspicious eyes to the pack on Auctus’ back.

Auctus grasped his chin, let his fingers dwell there, and tried to commit the face to memory. “I need coin, and much is offered with fighting to the east.”

“You’ll come back here in chains,” Barca cursed.

Auctus sadly shook his head. “I will end my life before I let the Romans have me in any way but a free man. I have no quarrel with them now, save those beloved to me they still hold as slaves. I will seek my fortune, and come back for you.”

“And Diona?” Barca asked. 

They did not often speak of her, of what she meant to Auctus, for fear that others would use such knowledge against them. “Naevia claims she has escaped. Perhaps I may find her on the road.”

“And you believe the words of a girl?” Barca scoffed. “Lies seep from inside that house.”

They’d all taken to a bitter turn since Melitta’s death, and shadows had started to encompass Barca’s face. He was becoming a stranger; a man Auctus did not recognize, yet he was too much of a coward to ask the truth. Every man had a price, and Quintus Batiatus was cheaper than most. He would pay his debts and gain his influence on the backs of all his slaves, ruining the good name his forefathers had built.

Those were arguments and concerns for another time, when he would have a chance to linger with Barca. Now they had only until Quintus left the whorehouse. 

Auctus sought to explain why he trusted Naevia, and hoped Barca would find a connection with her, to carry one absent Diona and Auctus. “Naevia was raised with Diona, they are as sisters; she has no reason to speak false words to me. I am neither her enemy nor her ally. She merely wishes her friend protected, and I can help keep Diona from Rome’s path, if I can find her. She knows nothing of the world outside the ludus.”

Barca frowned. “You seek two paths then; one to war, the other to Diona.” He looked down and rubbed a thumb over Auctus’ wrist. “I fear I shall not see you in this life again.”

“Then greet me with open arms in the next,” Auctus insisted. 

As Quintus’ voice echoed from the neighboring building, Auctus knew their time had come to an end. Barca was too noticeable even in this crowd, to do more than share an embrace that could be seen as brotherly affection. Auctus dug his fingers into Barca’s arm, as they separated into a warrior’s clasp. 

“Don’t forget me,” Barca ordered.

“I am a man of my word,” Auctus vowed. 

He would return to Capua a year later, to find his letters, supposedly passed to Ashur, were never delivered into Barca’s hands. He would find Barca, still yearning for freedom, but with happiness found in the arms of a young man barely grown, who made Barca smile freely in a way Auctus never had. He had to listen to it all from Naevia, newly come to trusted position at her domina’s side, as she nervously watched the guards passing by the doorway as they spoke.

Auctus had not been celibate in their time apart; he had found Castus after all, and he defied anyone to remain chaste when met with that man. Whereas Auctus had found company of both pleasure and general enjoyment, Barca had found something much delicate and rare. Auctus had witnessed it when Quintus had allowed him to visit the house. He’d enticed Auctus with wine and promises of greater glories if he’d slip on the noose of gladiator again, or sign his life away in contract of coin for arena fight. Auctus only had eyes for the sands below; for the heavy weight so obvious on Oenomaus’ shoulders, for the lack of Gannicus’ laugh, for the palatable change in the air, and saw nothing but Barca’s eyes forever straying from task to the ludus slaves. 

Naevia had been the only one willing to speak in truth, rather than riddles.

“Be wary of the Syrian snake among you,” he had said when his company was dismissed.

Naevia had grown hard in the year of his absence. She stiffly nodded and kept he head held high, even with eyes darting about to the shadows. “Were you able to track Diona?”

He shook his head. “Beauty such as hers is not so common in the lands where I fought. She was not among the auctions. She must’ve gone west, or north. I track those paths now.”

“You leave again?” 

Auctus did not turn his head to the balcony, to the sounds of fighting below their feet, but it was a difficult thing. “I made a vow I will not break. I must seek more coin to aid in purchased freedom. There are always more battles to be fought, fools like me willing to fight them, and even bigger fools willing to pay.” 

Naevia’s face went soft then, and he saw the shade of the girl she used to be. “You must love him dearly, to still honor such a vow.”

Auctus shrugged. “We will always bear the Mark of the Brotherhood; I do not like to keep my debts unpaid.” 

*********************

Auctus mouth was full of the taste of wine, salt, and Castus. He let himself relax into the pleasant hold of a dangerous man, who still offered familiar comfort. Fingers carded through his hair and Auctus spoke of his plans as he traced the tiny fishes and lines that marked the long expanse of Castus’ abdomen and chest. Castus left the bed only to pour more wine. He slid in again, close to Auctus’ back, knees slipping up to playfully part Auctus’ thighs. They shared a cup, soon abandoned for other pleasures. 

“What is she to you?” Castus asked, as he pressed a kiss behind Auctus’ ear. “Why is some slave-girl of such risk and worth?”

“She was beloved of my daughter, and trusted confidant for many years after. She has always been a gentle soul. Her only crime in this world has been daring to love a man her domina also desired,” Auctus answered. 

Fingers trailed down Auctus’ arm, teased over the curve of his hip, and traced low. “Is that truly all?” 

Auctus gasped as he bucked forward into Castus’ touch. This was the way he always gained his information; an interrogation technique even Auctus could not resist. Auctus’ fingers tightened over Castus’ own, guiding him, laughing low along with Castus as they rocked on the bed.

“I miss the waves,” Castus said.

“No enticing me away this time,” Auctus said. “I must stay here.”

“ _Must_?” Castus questioned. He leaned over Auctus, laughing as his cock slipped between the slick combined mess of them that had gathered between Auctus’ thighs and the bed below.

“There…are…others,” Auctus forced out as he tried to remember the reason for their conservation.

“Good; we can make our own crew,” Castus said.

Auctus would’ve laughed at the image, but all he cared about then was the sight of Castus’ dark fingers over his own, still visible in the light from the low burning flame of the oil lamp. Naevia was still held within the walls of the villa, there was nothing more to be done this night. Castus would rouse him before the dawn, forever a man of the sea, and they would make plans, spoken only here, in this room, between the two of them. 

Now though Auctus would give into the heat that was starting to travel up from his toes; to allow himself that which he’d denied since he last crossed paths with this pirate. It was not a great love between them; Castus always looked to the water and Auctus the mountains, but few understood him like Castus always had from that first smile and offer of wine.

“Cease thoughts,” Castus ordered.

Auctus tightened his thighs and pushed back, feeling victorious with the groan that ripped from Castus’ throat. “Try harder,” he teased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for implied rape and torture**. This chapter features Naevia and how she he was treated by Valerius. Please proceed with caution.

Life lived apart from the ludus was Auctus’ first chance to see Capua free from chains or the barred windows of wagons which carried them to and from the arena. The people of this city used to scream his name in praise; yet none recognized him now as he passed from different taverns. He did not know why he kept returning to Capua after each round of fighting in the east followed by a trip with the Cilicians. Greece was his birth place, but Capua had become something like a home for him; a young man now grown old seeking the closest thing to family. 

“Feet carry down familiar path,” a hated voice slithered into Auctus’ ear.

“Step away or die,” Auctus told him. He easily towered over Ashur and used that to his advantage. The man walked with a limp now courtesy of Auctus’ brothers. Auctus only wished he had been present to see such a snake trampled below feet. 

“Understandable reason, to feel so angered,” Ashur said. Cruel victory was clear in his smile. “I would be such if the man I loved so easily found his arms filled with another. A youth even, still capable of a gentle hold which your hands have not known in years.”

Auctus had killed men for less implied insults, now he stood more tired than angry. He had initially gone to fight wars in the east to gain coin for Barca’s freedom. Finding himself replaced upon his return, largely thanks to Ashur’s machinations, he turned back to the fights and the seas to gain coin for the young boy as well. Auctus had made a promise, and Barca had formed attachments that would not be broken. Barca couldn’t refuse the purchase of his freedom, but he’d never forgive Auctus if the boy was left behind. Another round with the Cilicians, perhaps an acceptance of the contract to train some bodyguards for a wealthy a Roman, and Auctus would be near a price Batiatus the Younger could accept without feeling insulted. 

Ashur was correct about one thing, Auctus _was_ angry; he was angry before his freedom, and stumbling through a world he knew nothing about had not helped to make him calm, but unlike Barca he now had the luxury of being unhappy, rather than the lack of choice. 

“Regrets keep tongue still,” Ashur said.

Auctus stepped out into the street. “My words are worth more than you can afford.” He turned the corner to smash into a familiar body, though with longer hair and lighter smile. “The gods either favor or damn me this day,” he said.

Barca’s hands were now an unfamiliar weight on his skin. The calluses on fingers and palms were in the wrong places. Old lovers now stood strangers, and yet it felt easy to slip into familiar touch. 

Barca looked over Auctus’ head and glared at Ashur until the man faded back into the shadows. Auctus knew their words would still have to be guarded here, for Ashur was the one to collect secrets to gain his own riches. Auctus worried for Barca, being left in that House which was crumbling to ruin with each new day.

“He does bring you happiness,” Auctus said. He found that jealousy did not eat at him as it had in the past. Barca looked at peace for once with the rough lines around his mouth softened at the very mention of the boy.

Barca nodded. “And you?”

Auctus thought of makeshift beds in tents on ship decks, and the sometimes steady, often wild, roll of the waves. He thought of how the sun felt different in the east; how the air was crisper to the north, and how he still in the end felt the need to return here, to his family of sorts. “I live.”

“And you are free,” Barca said.

“As you one day shall be,” Auctus promised. 

Barca shook his head. “Ever the fool. You should seek different goals.”

Auctus shrugged. “What shall I do? Offer a home for the lost birds of Rome?” 

Hearing, and feeling, Barca’s laughter again was enough to warm Auctus for many cold nights to come. 

***********************

The market in the city outside Valerius’ villa was full of chattering voices and shrieking children. It made Auctus grimace as he greeted the daylight. He’d been too long from Castus’ typical company to handle the morning with any grace or dignity. Castus had been awake for hours before him, letting Auctus linger in dreams. The man always did wake with the sun if he didn’t overindulge in all Dionysus had to offer. 

With clearer head and brighter skies, it was time to plan. 

“Where should I acquire my new gift?” Castus asked as they passed through the crowds. 

“I hear the path through the woods leads many to delight,” Auctus replied.

Castus tilted his head as if seeming to contemplate the answer. “Such delights should be shared.”

Auctus nodded in agreement. “One other should be there at least, though he may bring friends. I am to show a man of the north our forest paths.”

Even in the supposed privacy of their tavern room, they would not be free to speak of such plans. There were always eyes or ears belonging to a man or woman eager for coin. In the crowd their words would be easier lost or misinterpreted. Though Auctus had learned that with Castus things never did quite go as planned, it was still worth the effort to try. As long as Naevia remained free, and their actions undetected by the Roman authorities long enough for an escape, Auctus cared little for the details. 

Castus’ eyes strayed to something over Auctus’ shoulder. He turned to find Pietros and Nasir haggling over a bushel of beans.

“No,” Auctus ordered before Castus could attempt to charm them.

Castus regarded him with a raised brow. “No? Are they not allowed their own choices?”

“Neither would appreciate the attention aside from general flattery.” 

“Is that not their decision to make?”

“Their hearts belong to others,” Auctus warned.

Castus’ smile was dangerous as he turned his gaze back to the others. “I do not seek hearts.” 

It was a statement expected from a man like Castus, but Auctus well knew the sadness and yearning that ate at him. Auctus shook his head even as he felt the heavy press of his own oft-broken heart and lonely years. 

“I only require a name,” Castus clarified. “Small payment for the prize you wish me to recover.”

Auctus thought of Barca, and if he would consider this a betrayal. A flap of wings by the side of his face caught his attention. Auctus instinctively held out his hand as a white pigeon with grey speckled spots landed in his hand. If it was a sign from the gods, he’d take it.

“His name is Pietros,” Auctus said, before he could think better of it.

***********************

It had taken the better part of five years, but Auctus had scrapped together the coin required to make a more than reasonable offer to Batiatus the Younger with room for negotiation. He made sure to shave his face and have his hair cut before he approached the ludus. He almost looked like a proper Roman, as he pulled on the clothing made of more luxurious fabric than he ever allowed himself to wear at sea. It easily covered the scars on the trunk of his body and legs, but his arms were left bare. It would be enough of a reminder for Quintus just _what_ Auctus could do if provoked. 

Capua’s streets were full of the remnants of a successful gladiatorial match. Somehow the Shadow of Death had finally been defeated. Auctus wouldn’t have attended the game even if he had arrived on time. It was difficult to watch Capua cheer for other gladiators, ones he had not seen fight, in an arena with sand he’d never touched. Victory for the House of Batiatus, and all its rewards, would possibly ease the talk of purchase. 

The guards at the gates of the villa were untrained brats, barely able to keep their eyes open due to overindulgence even in the grey rain of the morning. Titus would’ve never stood for it, Quintus probably encouraged them. The air was heavy with the humidity that came even with a long rain. It made Auctus’ body tense as he approached the door to the house. Santos answered at his knock, eyes widened in a way that gave life to Auctus’ fears. He stepped into the house without any official welcome. His eyes quickly scanned what he could see. Curtains pulled where they were never were before, dark red stains at the bottom that spoke of something far from wine, and the pall of death its own taste in the air. When Auctus raised his head to find Naevia’s trembling lips, he almost broke his own resolve. 

Instead he walked over to the household gods, paying respect for the memory of a greater man, and waited for Naevia to join him.

“Is he dead?” he asked.

Naevia nodded. 

“His body?” he asked.

Her glance swept to the other side of the house, to the balcony, to the cliffs. 

“The boy?” he asked. 

“He lives,” Naevia said. 

Auctus nodded. There was at least one promise he could uphold. “Tell them I’ve arrived, if Santos has not already.”

Naevia nodded, and hesitated long enough to embrace him. “All my apologies, Auctus.”

Auctus allowed himself one moment of weakness. “Gratitude,” he whispered into her hair. 

He walked from the entrance hall into the atrium and glared at the water hidden just beyond the curtains. There were still small traces of a struggle; chips in plaster that only came from blades, little things no one would notice if they did not look for them. 

“Auctus, you were not the man I expected to see this morn,” Quintus greeted him. He made to embrace him as an old friend. “I fear you have just missed the glory of Barca’s freedom. He left us just last night.”

Auctus could easily kill the man, grasp his throat and hold until he choked the air out of him. Or he could take him to the ground, snap his neck, and leave him there. If it was not for all the other lives such an act would cost, he would not hesitate. He could not kill Titus’ son, no matter how much the urge came to him. 

“Did Pietros go with him?” Auctus asked. It was only years of training that kept his voice steady.

Quintus hesitated. “The cost was too high for them both. Barca won enough on a wager for his freedom alone. A victory in the arena which served us all.”

“So I’ve heard,” Auctus said. He studied Quintus then, noticing the tiny dots of sweat on his brow, the slight tremble to his arms. His wife stood behind him, eyes just too wide for mere curiosity. “Well, I came to purchase both his and Pietros’ freedom, but I guess I’ll just take the boy now. We should be able to meet Barca on the road.”

“The boy?” Quintus scoffed. “What could you want with him?”

Auctus sneered. “Surely I do not have to remind a Roman of Grecian ways.” Auctus sighed as he adopted a pitying tone. “Are you so attached to a ludus slave whose sole purpose was to keep a gladiator leashed? Barca will not be as polite as I have been if he returns with coin. I offer negotiation while he would bring demand.”

Quintus smiled then, as if he was barely keeping himself from laughing at Auctus. “Pietros is dear to us. We have had him almost as long as Naevia and I would not be so easily parted from him.”

Auctus took the purse from his belt and tossed it at Quintus. It was more than enough to purchase Barca and Pietros with the aid of Barca’s winnings; it was an exorbitant amount to pay for one ludus slave, but greed was always a weakness for men like Batiatus the Younger.

“Quite persuasive,” Quintus said. “I believe we have an agreement.” He turned to Santos. “Bring the boy.”

“I would have the documentation signed,” Auctus said. 

“Between friends such as us?” Quintus asked.

Auctus had a scroll in his pack. “I heed the advice from a friend in Rome. Only proof of sale is required.”

Quintus frowned. “As a patron before you set off to other lands, I would think us beyond this, Auctus.”

“A Man of Thebes does not play dice,” Auctus answered. He purposefully flicked his eyes to the walls. “It appears you’ve had an accident.” He pointed to an obvious dent that no typical house slave could fix or cause.

“Too much wine gone to too many heads,” Quintus said. Santos appeared then with Pietros.

He was as tall as Auctus now, if not more so, though slim. He was still toned, looked strong, and bore many pieces of jewelry, gifts from Barca worn with pride. He looked confused, if not a little angry, though he’d never show such in front of his dominus. What was left of Auctus’ heart broke for the boy, who still seemed to truly trust the stinking shits of this house.

“Pietros, I am sure Ashur bestowed the joyous news of Barca’s freedom,” Quintus said.

“Yes, Dominus,” Pietros replied. His eyes flickered to Auctus again and the worry was magnified.

“That is a title now reserved for Auctus,” Quintus said as he pointed to him.

Pietros’ brow wrinkled as he said, “Dominus,” to Auctus. 

“I would have you gather your things. I wish to be on the road. I like to travel in the rain,” Auctus said.

“Too many years at sea,” Quintus said. He patted Auctus’ back. “I should have Doctore up here to say your farewells. I’m not sure there are many others left below you would know.”

Auctus laughed as he tapped his side. “I remember well that fucking Gaul.”

“Crixus was injured in the games,” Lucretia said, speaking for the first time. “We will pass mention of your visit on to him.”

Auctus nodded at her, even as he saw the slight catch of Naevia’s breath. He could not wait to be out of this fucking house. 

“Santos, gather Pietros’ things and summon Doctore,” Quintus ordered. "Naevia, bring us wine to celebrate this transition while I sign this fucking Greek’s scroll.”

“Batiatus, if it would not be too much trouble, I would rather go down into the ludus myself. One last time for my memories, of course.”

Quintus laughed then. “Of fucking course you would. Go; though try not to steal away any more of my slaves.”

Auctus’ laugh was hollow in response. “I would never dream of it.” 

He passed the scroll to Pietros. “Make certain he signs that.” 

Pietros nodded and took it without word. There was a blankness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Auctus couldn’t reassure him here, but once they were far beyond Capua’s walls, he would explain. It would not be an easy discussion for either one of them. 

The ludus itself was full of unfamiliar faces, though the stench and sound remained the same. Barca had kept to their old cell, with the pigeons. 

“I would see them freed so they do not become another man’s lunch,” Auctus informed Santos. Santos nodded as he started to unsecure all the cages. Auctus looked around the room. One shelf held all their possessions. A cloak far too large to be Pietros’, a few small trinkets, and blankets. Auctus did not fear any consequences from Santos’ tongue as he reached toward the beams, knocked until he found the hollow spot, and pulled out the hidden daggers. “Titus showed me where that was,” he explained. “He never had a reason to fear us, really. He won us over through respect, not intimidation. It’s a lesson his son never quite learned. Too late now I suppose. Quintus will see this as the gods’ approval of his actions.”

Santos was silent as he let the birds free. 

It was odd that Oenomaus had not approached them yet. He knew of every tiny thing that went on in this ludus, even before he became Doctore. Perhaps the man had finally decided to take a much-earned rest. If Auctus had more time to linger, he would’ve followed his suspicions, but as it was, he wanted Pietros away from it all.

A small black ribbon caught his eye on the edge of the bed. Barca would’ve used it to tie his hair back. “Why couldn’t you wait for me, you stubborn child,” he murmured. “Why could you never wait?”

*********************

When he first met Nasir and Chadara they still bore the plump faces of youth, though their eyes were decades older. It had reminded Auctus that there were much worse masters to serve under. Still it had cost him something to teach youths made to look and be delicate to kill with stealth and precision. It had felt different when he trained at the ludus, where the legacy of gladiators come before hung in the air. There was no glory in teaching soft hands how to slip poison into food and cover it with honey, but it was equally as important as shield-training was for survival. 

Valerius allowed the slaves closet to him to be cunning, expected them to be, but he punished them if they reached too far. There was no such thing as autonomy in his households. Even Nasir, or Tiberius as was he was called by his dominus, knew he would eventually meet his end thanks to Valerius’ will. He would not be turned out due to old age, or an injury, but only because Valerius’ would’ve finally saw Nasir as used up. Of course he couldn’t allow any other to purchase him, a slave who knew so many of his master’s secrets. That was one of the burdens slaves further down in the hierarchy never learned. If your dominus dealt in dangerous things, the more trusted the slave; the least likely they were ever to see freedom that did not come with death. Like Icarus, the best course remained the middle. 

Auctus ordered Castus to the woods outside the farm as he set his plan in motion. He’d return to the villa to judge the state of things. A full day-and-a-half away and darkness still hung over the home. In the entrance hall Chadara waited for him, Nonus and Nasir at her side. 

“Pietros explained her past,” she said. She dropped her eyes in grief. “Apologies, Auctus.”

He carefully caressed her cheek, using the delicate touch he normally reserved for his birds. “Gratitude for your thoughts. I assume Nasir and Pietros have returned?”

She nodded. “Pietros has taken Elpis from my arms again. Agron stands guard at Valerius’ door while Nasir has been left to entertain the slave-trader until Valerius’ is done.”

They turned their heads as a small thud came from the other room. Auctus grinned. “I see Nasir has provided more than enough wine for our guest. It is such a sad thing when a man cannot handle his drink,” he said it loud enough for the guards to hear. None hurried to the man’s aid.

“The gods have apparently blessed me with hair prettier than any horse,” Nasir said as he emerged. They walked as a group to Auctus’ room, far from prying eyes of the guards. 

Auctus spared a moment to kiss Elpis’ forehead. She snuggled closer into Pietros’ arms and waved a sleepy fist at him. “She is well?” Auctus questioned. 

Pietros nodded. “A belly full of goat milk and a head full of dreams.” Pietros carefully transferred the babe to Chadara’s arms. “Naevia?” he asked. 

“It has been many years since I’ve seen him so cruel to one not of this house,” Chadara confessed in a soft voice. 

“He takes his anger out on that which he views as worthless,” Nasir spat. “What does he care for Naevia’s strength if she is only to go to the mines?”

Most slave-owners knew better than to risk permanent damage to their property. Punishment depended on the will of the dominus, but most preferred those that didn’t leave marks. It was a different matter entirely when damage to a slave would not cost a man any coin, or ruin their investment. Valerius could kill Naevia, and no one would bring charges against him since she was condemned to certain death. 

“You have formed your plans,” Nasir guessed. “Your face speaks what your tongue will not.”

Auctus shrugged. “I see no reason to deny such, but the less you know the safer you are. As far as any of you are concerned, I will be in Neapolis.”

“Neapolis?” Nonus questioned. “You will attend a slave-auction?”

Auctus nodded. “Long enough for my face to be seen. I will need Agron to accompany me.”

“Why?” Nasir asked. 

“I am too well known in this city; Castus, the man who aids me, has an infamous reputation in port city taverns like those in Neapolis. Agron is still unknown in name, but not likeness. He is often seen at my side, but could be easily disguised if required. He will not be glanced at twice in Castus’ company; many would just guess him a recent recruit for the Cilicians if he is found in with them.”

“You will have Agron in two places at once,” Pietros said. “He is young enough and fast enough to appear at both your side in Neapolis and with your friend to offer aid in Naevia’s capture.”

Auctus grinned. “You were wasted as a simple ludus slave. Oenomaus _must_ have had plans for you.”

Pietros shrugged. “It matters not now. The gods have seen me here.”

*******************************

It was another nightfall before Valerius took pause long enough for Auctus to approach him. The man wore a satisfied, smug smile on his face, though Auctus could see the dried flecks of blood on his hands as he washed them in a waiting dish. 

“Must let the bitch sleep a bit before I’m done,” Valerius said. 

“Such mercy,” Auctus forced out. Naevia had been held for three full days. Knowledge of the consequences that would be paid by others was all that stayed Auctus’ hands when he was met with Valerius’ sneer. “I would not wish to occupy you longer, so I will speak quickly. I go to Neapolis to try and purchase a new assistant already fluent in Greek letters. I would take Agron along.”

“You hold quite an interest in my barbarian,” Valerius noted.

“I recognize a bit of myself in the man,” Auctus agreed.

Valerius scoffed. “He stands a slave, not a man.”

“He bleeds and breathes as the rest of us,” Auctus said. “You would not be so haughty if you were captive in his lands.”

Valerius laughed as if such an idea was fantasy. The tales of the world were nothing if not filled with histories of regimes and dynasties falling, of power eventually changing hands. Even Rome would one day fall. Auctus would never say such to Valerius, but they both knew how much the gods loved to punish hubris, and Rome, if nothing else, was Hubris herself. Auctus doubted its power would fade in his lifetime, not when Thebes had stood for so long, but death had to come for all men and governments. If the gods where kind Valerius would not die in his sleep.

“Inform Tiberius to burden your purse with some of our coin. I find the need for another bodyguard. Rumors are fast approaching of that unruly dog out of Capua.”

The city had been full this morning of the name Spartacus and a group of rebelling slaves gone underground. It was different from the slave revolts on the farms of Sicilia. Auctus and Castus both planned to use that fear of traveling bands of rebels to their advantage if required. 

Auctus had no plans to return with another slave; he’d use the excuse of whispers of plague if he had to, but as long as he had another man capable of wielding a sword at his side, the plan could work. 

Valerius took a sip of the wine Camilla held out for him. He placed it back on the tray she held, pausing a moment to study her face. “Take the barbarian with you and send Nonus to guard my rooms. Camilla, join me.”

Auctus bowed his head in some imitation of respect and gratitude he hadn’t felt for years. It would serve them all best if Auctus left the house with a good impression imprinted on Valerius’ mind. 

Auctus sent Nonus to Agron with instructions and started to pack. Pietros lingered in the doorway, eyes casting around the room. 

“How many weapons do you have hidden here?”

“A small armory of daggers,” Auctus admitted. He looked up and smiled in pride when Pietros worked one out from from behind a tapestry. “I taught Barca to hide them in the ceiling beams as Titus had taught me.”

Pietros went to one of the empty jugs used to transport water. “I prefer ones hidden in other weapons. A shard of pottery can be useful.”

Auctus laughed in agreement. He nodded to the disgruntled Agron who nearly brayed like an angered boar behind Pietros. Pietros shook his head as he slipped past Agron and muttered about decorum. 

“Where do you drag me off now?” Agron demanded.

“A destination you well know. More will be said on the road. Have you made farewells?” The small, genuine smile on his face said enough. “Very well. Is your pack ready?”

“I’ve been informed I’m hopeless at properly maintaining a pack. It’s currently being reviewed by Nasir,” Agron said. There was pride coloring his tone, and a general sense of peace. Slavery would never settle well on the shoulders of a man like Agron, but he’d found a way to cope, to navigate the struggle. 

“Honestly, Neapolis without a decent cloak,” Nasir announced as he shoved a bundle of clothing at Agron. “You cannot _possibly_ think of traveling like that?” He pointed to Auctus. “Do you see how he wears layers? Do you not realize he does that for a reason?”

Agron’s smile turned to a grin as he began to change. Nasir scoffed, though he spared a glare for Auctus when he refused to shift his eyes. Auctus winked at him in response, and delighted in the suddenly thin lips of Nasir. It was a blessing that he’d finally found this, and Auctus would do his best to return Agron in good health. It would take more time to get the others out, greater risks, and a greater chance of death. _If_ the rebels moved on from Capua they’d have a group to shoulder the blame, but until that time, Auctus would keep to his planning. Naevia first, all the others later. 

“We should leave before Valerius changes his mind,” Auctus said.

Agron and Nasir shared one more embrace, a sweet, chaste kiss, interrupted by a few low whispers, before another deeper kiss followed. That was the sort of intimacy that made Auctus slant his gaze and think of older days. 

Agron, for once, followed without complaint off the road into the woods. It was not their normal track to Neapolis, but one Auctus had taught him in case the road became too dangerous. Bandits were not unknown, and thieves could be found anywhere, no matter how close or far from the city walls. 

“An acquaintance of mine, Castus, is going to be help capture Naevia,” Auctus said when they were deep enough into the forest.

“He is a thief?” Agron asked.

“He is a pirate,” Auctus corrected. 

Even in the dark Auctus could see Agron’s frown. “Why do you need me then? Pirates are experts at stealing the free and innocent. They must be even better at taking the already captive.”

“I require a reason to be outside of the city when the abduction, and murder, occur. I need many witnesses to see me miles away from here, or the surrounding woods. There is always an auction in Neapolis to provide plausible cause. Your training is as good an excuse as any, and that scowl on your face is memorable enough for those who would see you at my side.”

“And if the pirate requires assistance?”

“You will double back after the auction and seek him. Or does the Barbarian fear a run through the woods?”

“You are a horrible man.”

Auctus patted Agron’s shoulder. “Sweeter words have never been so spoken to me.”

******************

Auctus was still beardless when he took his first human life. He was forced to show a mask of triumph at the time, pride in what he’d done, but soon after he’d found a dark corner and heaved until there was nothing left. He never forgot that first smell of blood on his skin, at what it meant to look into another man’s eyes as he life bled out, caused by Auctus’ hands. 

Agron was now at the same age Auctus was when he witnessed Barca attain his first Primus victory in the arena. Auctus already had five of his own by that time, in the constant battle of admiration, respect, and jealousy among his brothers for whom would be the champion after Oenomaus’ long recovery. It was a confusing time in the ludus after the match of Oenomaus and the Shadow of Death. That fight had been the one where Auctus truly realized even heroes could fall, but the gods could grant mercy. They all thought Oenomaus surely condemned to death that day; his life only spared for lasting so long against a demon from Tartarus. 

Now he matched as Agron successfully, and quietly, killed the two guards traveling with the cart that would’ve transported Naevia to the mines. The driver was already dead, courtesy of Castus’ blade. The slave-traders had left Valerius’ farm later than expected, allowing Auctus and Agron time to grumble in a tavern about unsuccessful auctions and sickly slaves for all who would listen. They had heard of the rebels moving out of Capua, after a daring altercation with a praetor. Gossip said they traveled south, though others swore it was more towards the mountains. Either way, it would provide a perfect cover. 

Auctus had already expected Naevia to be free when he followed Agron after a half-day of lingering in Neapolis. Instead he stumbled upon the very action of the crime. And he could hear Naevia screaming.

“Stop,” Auctus ordered before Castus could wrench open the wagon doors. “Gentleness is an act lost on you,” he grumbled.

Castus made an obscene gesture at Auctus. “Apologies for trying to see the job done without attracting any attention.”

Auctus ignored him as he easily undid the lock on the wagon and carefully opened its doors, allowing the light of mid-day to slowly seep into the dark space. This all would’ve been better under the cover of night, but Valerius apparently had decided to take his time. 

“Little bird?” Auctus softly asked as he peered inside. 

Naevia looked at him as if seeing a shade. Her fingers trembled as she reached out for him. They looked as if they’d been broken and healed crooked. He bit back the bile in his throat as he thought of having to break them again to reset what was wrong. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises. There was dried blood on her lips, and dark shadows around her eyes. 

“How are you here?” she asked, voice gone rough. 

Auctus peeled off his cloak and handed it to her. “I will explain once we are safe.”

“I will not go back,” Naevia said. She shook her head, eyes blown wide. “I will not go back to Capua.”

“I would never take you there,” Auctus promised. “There is a place here, hidden, rebuilt by my own hands. The woods around it are safe. We will stay there, if you’d like.”

Naevia slowly pushed away from the walls of the wagon. She did not look at the other two, only kept her eyes trained on Auctus. “You have not found Diona,” she said.

“No,” he admitted. “I found you instead.” Auctus took the necklace from around his neck and pressed the owl into Naevia’s shaking hands. “Athena was not the patron goddess of my city, but my mother worshipped her, and I came to view her symbol as my own protection.”

“The birds,” Naevia said.

“Pigeons are much easier to tame than owls,” he teased. He looked at her bare feet and gestured for his pack. The least he could do was wrap them in cloth.

“I purchased these,” Castus said, holding out a simple pair of sandals. “Consider their cost part of my final bill.”

“Gratitude,” Auctus said. He took them and passed them to Naevia, offering her choice. She grasped unto Auctus wrists and nodded. He pulled back enough to lower himself and tie them around her feet. There were cuts on her heels, purposefully done to make it painful for her to run. Auctus forced his fury down. He had known Roman cruelty, had been a tool of it, and received it, but never to this extent. 

“Crixus,” Naevia suddenly said. 

Auctus nodded, understanding all the meanings in that one word. Lucretia always had eyes for the Gaul, even between Auctus’ rare visits to that fucking house. He did not wish to get Naevia’s hopes up, not yet. 

“There was a rebellion in Capua. A group of gladiators revolted, led by a man called Spartacus. I assume that is the one they called the Bringer of Rain?”

Naevia slowly blinked as Auctus’ words set-in. “Do you think him alive?”

“If that fucking Gaul did not die at my hand, or Gannicus’, he would not allow some worthless Roman to do the same,” he swore. “We should leave this place, Naevia. There is danger being out so open.”

“Does your hut have windows?” she asked. “I’ve found I do not favor the dark.”

“I’ll have the Barbarian punch one into the wood,” Auctus promised. 

“Fucking Greek,” Agron replied. 

They were silent on the walk to the hut. A hunter had used it, probably before the last civil war, but Auctus had found it abandoned the first time he traveled this way. He’d set the area up with traps, the ones his grandmother had taught him to keep thieves out of the groves. He guided the way, though made sure Naevia remained at his side, the others trailing behind him. 

“Agron,” Auctus said as they approached the boundary, “if you do not wish to lose your leg, I would look down.”

He ignored Castus’ laughter, and Agron’s cursing, as they both carefully stepped over a cat gut pulled tight between the trees. 

The hut smelled of mold, but it was better than no shelter at all. It was of little surprise when Naevia gave into exhaustion. She curled up in the corner, Auctus’ cloak around her shoulders. Agron went to hunt dinner, leaving Auctus with Castus alone. 

There was a fury in Castus’ eyes, a disgusted sneer on his lips, as he took in Naevia. 

“Such hatred for something that has lined your purse for years,” Auctus observed.

“And yours,” Castus said with a voice gone dark. “We think of it as nothing but cargo. Attachments never to be formed, be it people, or grain, or wine. In the cities we see little beyond the whorehouses.”

“Except for raids,” Auctus said. “Do not claim ignorance of this.”

“It is different when it is placed in front of you with no drink to drown it away.”

“And no sea to escape on,” Auctus said. “She was a slave of position, importance, once cherished by her domina. And thrown away on a whim, based off jealousy.”

Castus scoffed. “That from the home you spoke of with such pride.”

“No,” Auctus said. “That House died over five years ago.”

************************

Auctus waited nearly a week to return to Valerius’ latifundia. With the added security on the roads, and the now open fear of Spartacus and his rebels, such a delay would have proper excuse. Naevia had agreed to stay with Castus; Auctus had left her sitting beside him and learning to sharpen daggers. They approached from the back, and were the first to see the flames doused near the farmhouse.

“Fuck the gods,” Agron muttered. He pointed to one of the edges of farmland, the glint of armor and blood clear in the moonlight. “Those rebels?”

“Possibly,” Auctus said. He gestured to the small creek that ran behind the main villa, running in through where the laundry was washed. “We’ll enter there.”

The house was full of yells which echoed on the stone walls. Curses, shouts, and death knells filled the air. Auctus found a few of the washing girls huddled in terror. Agron helped pull them to their feet, taking up the rear guard.

“You’re late,” Pietros’ amused voice rang out from one of the storage alcoves. “The house is under attack.” He cradled Elpis to his chest, as she slept on oblivious to all around her. “Chadara and Nasir were with Valerius. I have been here, creeping through the villa since I heard the clash of swords. I heard the name Spartacus yelled, but I know not if familiar faces stand among the Rebels. I do not know who stands victor now, though if you are here, I would guess it is not the Romans.”

There was a sword by his feet, easily reached if he had to quickly place Elpis in one of the baskets behind him. Auctus nodded in approval. The alcove was hidden, close to one of the back doors if escape was required. It was a good strategic position, and he felt pride in Pietros for being ready for any eventualities.

It seemed rebellion had found them first. Auctus could not believe what had become of his old ludus; though with the way that House had withered, he found he was far from truly surprised. He spared a moment to smile as Agron carefully pried Elpis from Pietros’ arms, giving him a chance to rest, and checking both for injuries. 

“So much for the barbarian who cared for nothing but his own grief,” Auctus teased.

Agron bared his teeth in a playful growl that woke Elpis up. She whined at him before little hands grasped his necklace and pulled hard. Agron made a choking sound even as Pietros detangled the mess of leather cords and tiny fingers. The washing girls were quick to change to amusement in the shock of it all.

“We should check on the others,” Auctus said. “I do not doubt the ability of Nonus, Nasir, or Chadara to defend their lives, but between Chadara’s tongue and Nasir’s temper, who knows what wrath may come down upon all our heads.”

Agron nodded in agreement. “I am eager to lay eyes on Nasir again.”

Pietros laughed. “He has missed your certain style of charm this past week. Just yesterday he was muttering about the fading of your stench from the linens.”

“Such romance overflows in youth,” Auctus said. He was sure to find familiar faces among the forces gathered in the villa. Former friends or not, it did not mean he would enter a fray unarmed or unaware. 

“All stand at the ready?” Auctus asked. He turned to find Agron helping to secure Elpis to Pietros’ back in a cloth sling.

“Ready,” Agron said. He moved Pietros to stand in the middle of them. The girls had each taken one of Agron’s knives and hovered behind him.

“Let us see what the Fates have in store,” Auctus said as they marched out into the center of the villa. He couldn’t deny the rush in his blood, the eager sense of a decent fight, the natural competition that came with being a gladiator, but he remembered a hut in the woods, and the friends huddled inside. 

It was Nasir’s voice that guided them, angry and exasperated. “If you would be so kind as to remove that blade from dear Nonus’ throat, I will _give_ you the name of the man who has your Naevia.”


End file.
